SELECT chapter 9 ↵ FROM union all

All came to a rather pointed head, however.

Stiles was at the station. A request from his dear father to drop by after school to have dinner with the man at the diner up the road. It seemed that guilt was a good motivator for the Sheriff because he'd been careful to spend more of his free time with Stiles.

"You ready?" His dad asked, finally sitting back in his chair to look at Stiles. He'd come in and had seen the Sheriff busy with a few notes, so he'd just plopped in one of the horrendously uncomfortable chairs that sat across the desk. He'd been sending increasingly horrible dog puns to Scott as he waited.

"Huh?" Stiles glanced up, before his brain clicked and heard what the Sheriff had said. "Oh, yea."

"How's Scott doing?" The older man asked as he stood to come around the desk.

"Good, his job at the vet has him learning some really cool things about the body cues that animals give off." Stiles rambled, dropping his phone into his pocket as he stood.

"Fascinating." The Sheriff said dryly. They both waved a good bye to the others in the station as they headed out.

"You have no idea." Stiles said equally dry. "You don't have to listen to it first hand. You wanna take the cruiser, or the Jeep?"

"I know I taught you to drive, but I still don't trust you." The Sheriff said, walking to the cruiser. "Come on."

"Can I hit the lights?"

"No." The question had been asked every time Stiles got into the cruiser. And every time the answer was no. But there was something comforting to the both of them to go through the motions of it. Like a particularly smooth section of wall that you just had to rub sometimes, for no reason. It was just a nice piece of wall.

The diner was Frost's Diner. A cash only joint that was all aging, rusted, chrome and vinyl seats. There was a certain patina to the air there that lended itself to a time capsule of experience that you could get nowhere else. It was a 10 minute drive from the station, but it was worth every mile.

Or it would've been if they'd ever made it to the diner that night.

Only about five miles of the drive was taken on a loop that curled around Beacon Hills proper and avoided some of the wait times on the main streets for lights. It was a common bypass for the busiest intersections. The road also cut through the edge of one of the National Forests, the signs on each side of the road proclaiming the entrance and exit from the protected land.

Normally, there weren't hitchhikers. Or even people walking along the road here, because it was faster to walk into town rather than bypassing around it. People didn't have to wait for lights the same way cars did.

So when a willowy figure appeared on the shoulder around one corner. Stiles was alert.

"Oh shit!" Stiles said, interrupting the retelling of his father's day. Because the person was dangerously close to being in the road and not on the shoulder. The Sheriff hit the brakes and they slowed painfully fast.

"Language, Stiles. Isn't that one of your schoolmates?" His dad asked.

"Schoolmates? What are you a dinosaur? We call them hobnobbers." Stiles said offhandedly, trying to figure out who it was. "I think that's Isaac."

"Lahey?" The Sheriff's voice turned very concerned for a two syllable word. They were getting close and Stiles saw blood on the shirt, the kid's head was bowed down.

"Uh, we need to pull over. I can see blood on that shirt." Stiles said, voice low and just as serious as his father's had turned. The crunching of the gravel on the shoulder finally had Isaac turning around to face the car. His face was pale and his eyes were showing whites all around.

Hair that normally curled delicately around his face was plastered to his skull in weird ways. Isaac's plain t-shirt was covered in blood and obvious marks where he tried to rub some of it off. In the washed out shadow of the forest he looked pale and frightened. Too thin, too small, a bunny shivering.

Before his dad could stop him or hit the child locks on the door, Stiles was out of the cruiser and approaching the other teen. He kept his hands away from his body as he approached and opened with a soft voice. The tugging warmth in his chest was pooling in his hands.

"Hey man, get a little lost out here?" Stiles asked and then kept speaking as if IsaacIsaac had replied. "Yea, happens to the best of us. Dad and I were on the way to Frost's Diner. They have amazing curly fries."

Stiles heard his dad climb out of the car. Wanted to curse because Isaac's eyes bounced between the two of them. Eyes growing wider, Stiles saw the way the teen's chest shivered he was breathing so fast. Instead of cursing, he kept up with the soft speaking, not really paying attention to what he was saying as he approached the kid.

From close up, the blood was fresh. Still wet in the teen's shirt. His arms curled around himself, shoulders slumped as he stared owlishly between the two of them. Isaac had yet to respond to the words Stiles' was spewing, but his shoulders weren't pinching up towards his ears as badly.

"Son, why don't you come with us and I can get you looked over." The Sheriff's voice carried over, deep and concerned. Stiles' hackles wanted to go up hearing the word 'son' used on someone else when he didn't remember the last time his dad had called him that.

Isaac shivered. Stiles swore under his breath and stepped in close to the teen.

"Sorry if you don't want to be touched, but we need to get you checked out." Stiles said low under his breath. As soon as he touched the injured teen, Isaac slumped against him. Whole body going limp. A low whimper escaping from pale lips.

"Uh, Dad?" Stiles called, looking over his shoulder. Almost instantly, the Sheriff was on the other side of Isaac and looping an arm under the teen's shoulder. They managed to get Isaac into the back of the cruiser before the Sheriff let dispatch and the emergency room know that they would be bringing someone in.

"Sorry about the diner." He said when they were back on the road, heading in the opposite direction of curly fries.

"It's good. I'm glad we were driving that way." Stiles said, twisted in his seat so he could look back at Isaac. Who'd closed his eyes and curled into the corner of the back seat, becoming as small as possible.

The rest of the ride was silent aside from the Sheriff letting dispatch know when they were pulling up to the ER. A few nurses, Melissa, and a bed were waiting for Isaac. Only a short flurry of motion and then the very scared teen was wheeled into the hospital. The Sheriff pulled Melissa aside and Stiles shamelessly eavesdropped on the conversation.

"Document the injuries. Potential child abuse." The words froze Stiles' blood.

He looked at the door that had carried Isaac away.

A new, sinking, sort of guilt etched it's way into his bones. He'd only ever cared about the Hales. About the shadows and the supernatural. Yet, there went one of his own classmates, bloodied and hurt by their own family. Stiles sat in the uncomfortable chairs and watched his father orchestrate a rather impromptu arrest warrant. Trying his hardest not to think about anything.

The Sheriff would leave the waiting room every once in a while with a nurse, only to return stonier and angrier. Then he would leave out the front doors with his cell phone attached to his ear.

"Come on, I'm going to drop you off at the station." His dad's voice roused him from the staring contest with the pharmaceutical ad on the back of one of the magazines that laid on the chipped coffee table. An overly sunny picture.

"What about Isaac?" Stiles asked, turning back to the door the frightened kid had disappeared behind.

"His older brother will pick him up when he's discharged." The Sheriff said, voice tired. "Mr. Lahey, Isaac's father, is currently in custody."

Stiles nodded and followed his dad out into the night.

The drive back to the station was quiet, dampened by the events of the evening.

"I'm going to be here a little late to speak with Mr. Lahey and his attorney." The Sheriff said, running one hand down his face.

"Be safe." Stiles called as he got out, his dad had parked right next to his Jeep. Stiles drove home in silence. It wasn't too late, but the day had given way to night.

S: Just had the worst few hours.

Sc: what happened?

Stiles laid in bed and thought about what to say to Scott. How do you explain a situation like that? Stiles finally pulled his headset on and sent a message to Scott to do the same.

"What happened?" Scott's voice was a little tense. "You okay?"

"You know Isaac?" Stiles said, plucking at the cord that tied his headset to his controller.

"Yea? Isn't he in our grade?" Scott asked.

"Mmhm." Stiles affirmed, sighing before launching into the events of the evening.

"Holy shit." Scott breathed when he was done. Stiles mumbled agreement. "I'm glad you and your dad were driving along there."

"Yea." Stiles breathed out. The guilt that had etched into him hurt a little and he rubbed at his sternum. Telling Scott had eased it somewhat, but it still hurt. "I'm gonna go. I just wanted to tell you."

"I'm glad you did, that really sucks. Do you think he'll be in school tomorrow?" Scott asked, voice distorting as he moved and did something on the other end.

"I don't know." Stiles fiddled with his fingers. "Yea. I don't know."

"Mmk." Scott said, "Then, I'll see you tomorrow."

They signed off with little fanfare, Stiles merely disconnecting his headset. The ache in his chest throbbed some and he stared out his window. Hells, did he wish that there was something that he could do. But that was such a silly, self-centered, idea that would only make him feel better.

On a sigh he sent a text to his dad, reminding the man to eat the nutrition bars in his desk and not the honey buns in the vending machine. Then he grabbed his backpack and started in on his homework.